


Little Moments in Time: A Critical Role Collection

by ArtemisPendragon (DestinyWolfe)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cute, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Resurrection, Romance, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-03-26 17:01:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19010023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestinyWolfe/pseuds/ArtemisPendragon
Summary: A collection of short fics based on Tumblr prompts. Each chapter will be a stand-alone one-shot. I'll update the tags as I add new chapters.





	1. Prompt #1: "Oops, wrong room" (Fjorester, implied Beauyasha)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #1: "Oops, wrong room" submitted by ladyblob on Tumblr 
> 
> Relationships: Fjorester, implied Beauyasha

Beau woke up at fuck-this o'clock in the morning to the sound of muted whispering. Before she was fully conscious, she was on her feet, quarterstaff in one hand, the other balled into a fist. It took her a moment to remember that she was in an inn, not the middle of the wilderness; she relaxed slightly, reaching for the candle and matches on the bedside table.

“Hey, Jester, is that you?” She struck a match, lighting the candle and holding it up in the darkness. She blinked against the sudden surge of brightness, squinting as she waited for her vision to adjust.

Jester wasn’t in her bed. Beau frowned, gripping her staff, and looked around the room with growing apprehension. “Jes–?” She stopped mid-sentence, staring at the open doorway.

“Oh, fuck,” said Fjord, taking a hasty step back out into the hallway. “Oops, sorry, wrong room. Thought this was mine and Molly’s. Late night in the tavern, y'know, and I’m a bit disoriented–”

“Hey, no, I get it.” Beau smirked, raising an eyebrow. She set her staff down and crossed her arms. “When we’re out on the road, I  _accidentally_ end up in Yasha’s tent all the time.”

Fjord opened his mouth, looking extraordinarily uncomfortable, but at that moment Jester slid through the space between him and the half-open door, pausing as she assessed the situation. She tilted her head to one side and smiled cheerfully. “Oh, hi Beau! I was just going to get more blankets, because you looked really cold when I woke up earlier. You were shivering and everything; I wanted to make sure you were super comfortable so you don’t have a really bad hangover tomorrow.”

Beau felt a burst of affection for her roommate. “Ahh, thanks, Jes. I mean, I’m not cold, but y'know. Thanks.”

Jester turned on Fjord, who was attempting to slip away unnoticed. She grabbed his hand and tugged him back into the room. “This is a girl’s room, Fjord; don’t you know that?” There was a teasing lilt to her voice. Fjord mumbled something incomprehensible; even in the faint candlelight, Beau noticed a dark flush rising in his face and neck.

Beau looked from Fjord to Jester, still smirking. “ _Wrong room_ ," she said. “That’s his story. Apparently he was getting fucked up in the tavern all night and forgot which room was his.”

Jester leaned in close to Fjord and sniffed. “Fjord, you don’t even smell a little bit like beer. Or anything even a little alcoholic.”

“Y'know,” said Beau, “I don’t mind if you guys wanna cuddle and shit. ’S long as you don’t wake me up or anything, I couldn’t care less.”

Fjord sighed, shaking his head. “C'mon, Jester. Thought we agreed not to make this complicated.”

Beau sat back down on her bed, rolling over and wrapping herself in her thin blankets. “Hey, it’s no big deal, man. I can keep a secret. I’ve had a lot of practice at this point. If you don’t wanna tell the others yet, it’s fine. Although I’m pretty sure they already know, just for the record.”

“That might be the case,” said Fjord, still standing awkwardly in the threshold, “but I’d appreciate it if this could stay off the record for a while longer, at least while we’re still figurin’ things out.”

“No problem,” said Beau. “You’re talking to a bullshitting queen. I’ve got your back.”

Jester pulled Fjord toward her bed; with a sigh, he followed. She threw back the comforter and patted the mattress. “You can stay right here until it’s morning, okay Fjord? Unless Beau isn’t okay with that, which just means we can go to your room instead!”

“Like I said, it’s fine with me,” said Beau, shrugging one shoulder. “Better you stay here than risk going into Molly’s room at this point. Never know what he might be doing in there. Probably something nasty or annoying. Maybe both.”

Fjord lowered himself onto the bed, shooting Beau an apologetic look. “Sorry for wakin’ you up. I assumed Jes was in here; I had no idea why she didn’t hear me the first five times I said her name.”

Jester grinned. “That’s definitely not the most times in a row you’ve said my name, though.”

Beau snorted. “It’s fine, Fjord. Just don’t loudly make out or do anything weird, and I’m totally cool with it.” She snuffed out the candle. “Hey Jester, you mind throwing me those blankets? I’m not cold, for the record, but–”

“–off the record,” Jester interjected, “you are totally super cold right now.”

Beau smiled as Jester launched the wad of cotton blankets across the room. She caught them and spread them out, turning toward the window next to her bed. “‘Night. Have fun cuddling. If anyone comes in and sees you, I’ll tell them Fjord got cold.”

Fjord huffed, and Jester giggled. “I mean, it’s not totally a lie,” she said. “Sometimes he gets really cold and I have to lie on top of him like a blanket.”

“Okay, I think we should all stop talkin’ before someone says somethin’ regrettable,” said Fjord. “'Night, Beau, Jester. Sleep well.”

As she settled back in, tugging the curtains over the window to ensure a late second awakening, Beau smiled to herself. She would tease them mercilessly–of course she would–but when it came down to it, they seemed happy, and that made her happy, too. She thought about Yasha, about the warmth and completeness she felt when they were together, and a surge of gratefulness washed over her–gratefulness that her friends had found that connection, too. Because at the end of the day, when the blood and bruises faded and the spoils of battle were frittered away, those connections were all that mattered.


	2. Prompt #2: Beau taking care of Yasha (Beauyasha)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #2: Beau taking care of Yasha (submitted by Anon on Tumblr)
> 
> Relationships: Beauyasha

Beau sat by the fire feeding pinecones and dry grass to the flames. Clouds gathered overhead, threatening rain. The night air was sharp like fresh-cut mint in a well-kept garden. She tilted her head back and breathed it in. Her shoulders ached, bruises forming along her collarbone and back where a particularly vicious bandit had struck her with a mace. Jester had done what she could, but there had been other, more serious injuries to tend to. 

Beau bent her head, wincing and rubbing at the sore spots. Her knuckles ached—although she’d properly wrapped them, one of the bandits had been wearing an undershirt of chainmail, and she hadn’t seen it until the damage was done. Of course, she’d flattened him with her staff immediately after, but revenge didn’t heal bruises.

“You know,” said Molly, sitting a pace away with his coat laid out before him, cards spread in a crescent pattern, “poking at them is only making it worse.”

Beau threw a pinecone at him. He ducked, but it still hit him dead in the chest. “Shut up, Molly. You’re not my mom.”

Molly smiled, pulling a card from his deck and flipping it over. “Ah,” he said.

Beau wanted to ignore him. She lasted about ten seconds before asking, “What?”

“Yasha.” He didn’t elaborate.

“What? What about her?” Beau frowned, glancing around. It took her a moment to realize that the Mighty Nein was one member short. She shot up, instantly alert, and grabbed her staff from where she’d left it leaning against a rock. “Wait, where the fuck is she?”

Molly flicked his tail—the Tiefling equivalent of a shrug, according to Jester—and pulled another card. “Why don’t you go find out?”

“I’m on watch, dumbass. What, you want me to just fuckin’ walk off and leave the camp undefended?”

She didn’t need to see his face to know he was rolling his eyes. “I’m here.”

“Good for you.”

He sighed. “Go find her. She may have been playing it off earlier, but she received more hits than healing this evening.”

Beau stood perfectly still for a long moment, staring into the fire. “If I come back and everyone’s dead, I’m blaming you.”

Molly shot her a look that clearly said, _Bitch, please._ She stared him down until he looked away. Turning, staff in hand, she set off into the thinly forested wildlands beyond the copse of oaks where they’d made camp.

Beau found Yasha sitting in a clearing beside a silver stream. Beau knocked on a tree to announce her arrival; Yasha startled, shoulders bunching, and turned to lock eyes with Beau. The tension faded at once, and Yasha smiled. “Beau.”

“Yash. Uh, Yasha. Hey.”

Yasha turned back to the stream. She patted a patch of relatively not-wet moss beside her. “I wondered if you’d find me.”

Beau stood awkwardly on the edge of the clearing for a heartbeat, then crossed to the stream and dropped down, legs crossed and hands resting on her knees. She looked at Yasha, found that Yasha was looking at her, and looked away. “Uh. I’m just… it’s just… you took a lotta hits back there. Y’know, on the road with the bandits.”

She heard the smile in Yasha’s voice. “I know. I was there.”

Beau wasn’t sure whether to be amused or mortally embarrassed. She found herself straddling the line. “You okay? Did Jester do enough, or do you need anything else? Think I’ve got a potion or something in here, let me—”

Yasha caught her wrist as she reached for her travel pouch. “It’s okay, Beau. Save it for when we really need it.”

Beau froze as Yasha’s fingers wrapped around her wrist, thumb over her pulse. She wondered if Yasha could feel how hard her heart was pounding. Her mouth went dry; she held her tongue, knowing that anything she said would be jumbled and utterly nonsensical. Swallowing, she held her breath, waiting for Yasha to let go.

Yasha did not let go. Her fingers relaxed, sliding down Beau’s wrist until their palms were pressed together. Beau shot her a glance. Yasha wasn’t looking at her, but there was a tiny smile on her face. Beau slotted her fingers into the spaces between Yasha’s and squeezed. 

“Beau. I’m glad you’re here. That you came to find me.”

“Me too,” said Beau. “I mean, yeah. I’m glad I found you. Woulda sucked if I wandered around in the forest for like an hour for no reason.” 

Yasha laughed a small, breathless laugh. Then she winced; Beau felt it through their connected hands. 

Frowning, Beau turned toward Yasha. She took stock of Yasha’s injuries. Bruises covered Yasha’s cheek and jaw, blooming on one shoulder around a nasty, oozing gash roughly five inches long. “Ah, fuck, Yasha. Molly was right.” She swore under her breath. “Fuck. Forget I said that last part. But seriously, that looks… bad. Like, could-get-infected bad.”

Yasha shrugged the injured shoulder, trying and failing to hide another wince. “I’ve taken worse damage, Beau. I’m alright.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve all taken worse damage. Doesn’t mean we’ve gotta ignore the small shit.” She touched the yellowing bruise around the gash, wrinkling her nose. “This isn’t even small shit, though. This is like a nasty flesh canyon.”

Yasha gave a startled laugh, turning to stare at Beau. “That’s… an odd way of putting it, but I’m not going to argue that it’s accurate.”

Beau reluctantly let go of Yasha’s hand to dig through her travel pouch. She extracted a tiny flask of stolen alcohol, a few old scraps of pocket bacon, and a ten-inch-long wad of gauze Jester had given her after a nasty fight a few weeks back. _It never hurts to be a little extra prepared_ , Jester had said with the air of a wise-woman passing on ancient knowledge, _especially if you don’t wear armor and get so many little scratches and bruises and things even when we’re not actually fighting._ Beau had not taken offence, but she had taken the gauze. 

_Maybe Jester is a wise-woman after all,_ Beau thought as she unraveled the gauze, tore off a patch, and soaked it in alcohol. “You good with me sticking this on the flesh canyon? It’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker.”

Yasha tensed, then nodded. “It’ll hurt less than an infection.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, it’s a yes.”

“Cool. I’m just gonna…” Beau stuck out the tip of her tongue as she concentrated, carefully sticking the gauze on the wound. She pressed down; blood soaked into the fabric, turning it a dull pink. “Nasty. Fuckin’ hate slashes. Second only to stabs.”

Yasha nodded. She was staring at the water again, stars dancing in liquid silver. “Beau?”

“Yeah?”

“It was nice, before. When we were holding hands.”

Beau almost dropped the gauze. “Oh. Yeah, it was nice. It was really nice, Yasha. You wanna, like, maybe do it again sometime?”

Yasha glanced back at her. She smiled. “Can ‘sometime’ be right now?”

“Oh, fuck. I mean, yeah, for sure.” Beau hastily unwrapped one of the scarves on her belt and tied it around Yasha’s upper arm, securing the gauze. “That too tight? Not tight enough? Uncomfortable? I’ve got like, beads and shit on some of these, so tell me if it sucks.”

“It’s fine, Beau. Thanks.”

Beau opened her mouth then closed it, suddenly lost for words. Before she could say something horribly embarrassing or stupid, Yasha took her hand again. Beau stared at their intertwined fingers, inhaling sharply as Yasha ran the pad of her thumb over the bruises on Beau’s knuckles. “Are you okay?” Yasha’s voice was soft as river moss. “I saw you punch that guy. It looked painful.”

Beau shrugged. “Jester took care of the worst of it. Nott’s flask took care of the rest.”

Yasha scooted closer until their shoulders and hips were touching. “Is this okay?”

“Okay? More than… fuck, yeah, it’s totally… great. It’s good. Yeah.” Beau ran her free hand through her hair, cringing internally. “My tongue’s still kinda numb. From the liquor.”

Yasha squeezed her hand. “I understand. Sometimes words are hard.”

Beau nodded. She was painfully aware of the places where she and Yasha were touching, still in shock that Yasha had initiated such intimate contact at all. After a few moments that were either peaceful or awkward—Beau couldn’t really tell—Yasha turned toward Beau. They were still sitting, Yasha with her knees pulled up to her chest and Beau cross-legged as if meditating. “Hi,” said Yasha.

“Hi,” said Beau.

Yasha cupped Beau’s face, and Beau’s whole body seized up as if she’d been struck by lightning. “Thanks for doing this,” Yasha said softly. “For taking care of me.”

Beau swallowed. “Nothing. I mean, it’s nothing. I’d… yeah. Of course I care about you. Took care of you. Whatever.”

Yasha touched the bruise on Beau’s collarbone. “Maybe we should both be more careful in the future, you know?”

“Oh, totally. I mean, unless it means we get to do this.” Beau made a vague gesture between them. She finished by touching Yasha’s hand, which was still pressed to her cheek. “Hey, crazy question,” she said. “Is it cool if I kiss you right now?”

Yasha tilted Beau’s head up, two fingers under her chin, and smiled. “I thought I was being obvious.” She leaned down and pressed their lips together. Beau grabbed the front of Yasha’s armor and pulled her close, eyes sliding shut. When they broke away, Yasha laughed a small, silver laugh. “Words are hard,” she said, “but there are other ways to say I love you.”

“Fuck,” said Beau, breathless and vibrating with adrenaline. “Holy shit, Yasha.”

“Good?” Yasha tilted her head, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Beau’s ear. 

“Good,” Beau replied. “Again?”

“Again.” Yasha smiled, leaning back in for a second kiss.

They stayed there on the riverbed until the sun peeked its fiery head over the distant mountains, turning the silver stream to gold. 


	3. Prompt #3: Caleb and Molly sharing a room (Widomauk, implied Beauyasha and Fjorester)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #3: Caleb insisting Molly room with him post-resurrection (submitted by Anon on Tumblr)
> 
> Relationships: Widomauk (implied Fjorester and Beauyasha)

Molly woke up on a stone alter in a dimly lit temple with the entirety of the Mighty Nein standing over him. Once they’d finished crying on him (and him on them), they made their way to the nearest inn, a dirty, tiny place that smelled strongly of old sweat and spilled ale. Molly didn’t give a fuck about the smell, or the less-than-friendly patrons. Once the initial shock of not being dead wore off, all he wanted was to drink hard and sleep for a week, in that order. It didn’t matter where those activities occurred, only that they did. 

It was approaching the line between late night and early morning when Molly left the tavern. Beau, who had helped him drink half the bar, followed him upstairs. Molly made it all the way to the landing before realizing he’d left his coat downstairs. Beau offered to go back with him, but he waved her off. “Oh, no, I don’t need an escort. Especially not a cranky, drunk escort.”

Beau flipped him off, but in the dark, Molly saw her smiling. “Goodnight, you asshole. It’s good to have you back.”

“Good to be back.” Molly flashed her a grin, turning away. He made his way back downstairs; as he stepped back into the tavern, a flash of movement caught his eye. Sitting beside the long-cold fireplace with a book on his lap and his cat curled by his side was Caleb.

Caleb looked up, and their eyes met. Caleb ducked his head, closing the book and pushing himself to his feet. “I noticed you forgot your coat. I was going to bring it to you, but I suppose there is no need now.”

Molly tilted his head. Jester and Nott had bought (or otherwise acquired) a king’s ransom of new bobbles and jewels prior to his resurrection; they glittered and jingled in the dim lanternlight as he moved. “No, there’s not, is there?” He crossed the room, unsteady and disoriented—he couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the side effects of being dead for a month—and grabbed his coat off the bench. He threw it on, a flash of bright color in the dull room. “Well, goodnight. I suppose I’ll be rooming with Yasha and Beau, now that Fjord and Jester are… like that.” He made a vague, airy gesture. 

Caleb frowned. He tucked the book into one of his holsters, covering it with his dirt-stained coat. “ _Ja_ , I suppose.” A brief silence. Caleb ducked his head, playing with the frayed end of his battered scarf. “Beau and Yasha, they are like that also.” He mimicked Molly’s gesture. 

Molly opened his mouth, a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue; he swallowed them all, filing that away for later. “Well. That’s new.” He tried not to sound scathing, and failed miserably. “So that’s… they’re in two of the rooms, and you and Nott are in the other?”

Caleb nodded. He glanced up at Molly, then down at his hands. “You missed some things. But really, it was not unexpected. The things that happened.”

Molly felt suddenly lost. He wanted another drink. He wanted to hit something, to break something. Anything to fill the empty hole expanding in his chest.

Caleb crossed the tavern to the stairs. He looked back at Molly over his shoulder. “You can stay with us. Me and Nott. I am sure she wouldn’t mind, and I would feel better…” He trailed off, swallowed, and turned away. “If you would like, you’re always welcome to share my room, Mollymauk.”

Molly inhaled. His breath was sharp with the tang of whiskey. He opened his mouth, closed it, shook head. “No, Caleb, it’s fine. I can…” He trailed off. What _could_ he do? Stay in the tavern until sunrise, pretend that it was a choice? That nothing had changed? That _he_ hadn’t changed?

Caleb sighed. He hung his head. In the half-dark, Molly noticed the tense set of his shoulders, the way his hands clenched by his sides. “Please, Mollymauk. I would prefer it if you were nearby.”

Molly cocked his head, trying not to look taken aback. He inhaled deep and held his breath, counting the seconds. Arranging his thoughts. He exhaled, clenching and unclenching his fists. “It’s a tempting offer.” His voice shook. He shrugged his shoulders, steeling himself. “I don’t think Nott would like it. I wouldn’t want to wake her up, or—”

“You can have my bed,” Caleb said. His voice was so soft Molly almost didn’t catch his words. “I don’t mind sleeping… anywhere. I am used to it.”

Molly crossed the room and put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. Caleb glanced back at him, then away up the darkened staircase. “That’s no excuse. I could say the same thing about myself. The difference between us, when it comes down to it, is that I appreciate you as a person, and you don’t.” He paused, sliding his hand down Caleb’s arm to take his hand. Caleb startled, but didn’t pull away. Molly rested his chin on Caleb’s shoulder, careful not to let his horn bump against Caleb’s head, and murmured, “If you want me nearby, darling, then I’ll stay nearby.”

Caleb didn’t reply. He’d gone stiff and silent; Molly stepped back, suddenly afraid he’d overstepped some invisible boundary. He dropped Caleb’s hand, running his fingers through his tangled hair. The cleric at the temple had bathed him post-resurrection, but the smell of blood and dirt lingered on. “Well. This has been an interesting conversation. I think I’ll just…” he gestured to the empty tavern, “…get another drink. I assume Beau’s picking up the tab? She did take my gold, after all.”

Caleb started up the stairs. Then he paused halfway to the landing and turned around. Molly watched his expression shift, cycling from sadness to frustration before landing on determination. “Come with me.” His tone left no room for argument. “It’s not safe for you to be alone in this state.”

Molly shrugged. “I’ve been drunk plenty of times before, and nothing bad’s happened. Well. Not _too_ bad.”

“Not that.” There was a sharpness to Caleb’s voice that Molly had rarely heard before. “You were dead. You were dead, and we didn’t know if you would come back.”

The last shred of Molly’s composure shattered, and he took a deep, shaky breath. “Okay.” His voice was as unsteady as the rest of him. He made for the stairs, falling against the railing and holding tight. At once, Caleb was by his side, one arm around his shoulders, leading him up to the landing. “I’m sorry about that. This. I know it makes you uncomfortable. Being close to people.”

To his surprise, Caleb laughed. Not a real laugh, but close enough. “Only if they are people I don’t trust or like.”

Molly leaned on Caleb as they made their way down the darkened hall. “Ah. Well, I’m not sure I fall into the first category, but it seems I’ve earned a place in the second.”

Caleb didn’t reply. Carefully, quietly, he unlocked the door and crossed the threshold. He let go of Molly and sat heavily on the edge of the unoccupied bed. Molly stopped in the middle of the room, staring at Nott’s sleeping form. “Are you sure this is okay?”

Caleb threw back the blankets. He pulled off his boots and laid down on his side, wrapped in his filthy coat. “There is room for both of us.”

“Well, then. I’ll take your word for it.” Molly pulled off his boots, his coat, his jewelry, and set them on the floor. He slid under the blankets, careful not to bump against Caleb. “Are you going to sleep in all that?”

Caleb was silent for a long moment. “I… would you prefer if I didn’t?”

“It’s up to you. Just wondering if that’s normal for you.”

“If something happens—if we are attacked or need to leave at a moment’s notice—I’d rather be prepared.”

“Ah. I see.”

Another long silence. 

“As Fjord can attest, I usually sleep naked,” Molly said. “But I assume that’s a deal-breaker.”

Caleb laughed softly. “I wear all my clothes, and you wear none.”

Molly laughed, too. “If we’re being honest—which I rarely am—we do a good job of balancing each other out.”

“If I’m bothering you during the night, just let me know and I will move,” Caleb said abruptly. “Sometimes I have dreams. Nightmares. When I have them, I do and say things in my sleep that are… not dangerous, exactly, but not pleasant, either. So just… let me know.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I am not being—”

“You are, you _are_ , and besides, I have dreams, too. So does Yasha, and Fjord. Fuck that, everyone has nightmares of some kind or another. And not to be narcissistic, but I’m fantastic at talking people down.”

“You don’t know what my nightmares are about.”

“I don’t need to.”

Caleb didn’t reply for a long time after that. Then, in the softest whisper, he said, “Some of the times they are about you.”

“The good ones, or the bad ones?”

“I don’t have good ones.”

“Will it make it worse for me to be here? If you say yes, I’ll happily move to the floor. Or another room. Either way.” Molly tried to sound flippant, casual. “You can be honest with me, Caleb. Dishonest people always know when someone is being dishonest; there’s no point in lying.”

“I want to trust you.” The words were tense, a bowstring pulled too taut. “I need to know that you can trust me, too.”

“I trust you,” said Molly, a little too fast. 

“You don’t know me. Not really.”

“That’s fair. But I’d like to.”

Caleb drew a shaky, shuddering breath. “Then stay.”

Molly turned over. He put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder, staring at the back of his head. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Not for a long time.”

Caleb tensed, but Molly heard the relief in his voice when he said, “Good. That’s… _ja,_ that’s good.”

Molly turned away. He pulled the blankets up to his chin, sliding a hand under the pillow, shifting it to accommodate his horns. “I’ll see you in the morning,” Molly said, “assuming Nott doesn’t kill me in my sleep.”

Caleb sighed. Molly had meant it as a joke, but given the circumstances, it was in rather poor taste. 

“Goodnight, Caleb.”

“ _Gute Nacht_ , Mollymauk.”

Molly didn’t fall asleep for a long time. He lay there listening to Caleb’s breath, watching moonlight creep through cracks in the curtains. Eventually he slipped into a dreamless sleep; when he awoke, he realized that Caleb had thrown an arm over him in the night. Molly froze, then settled back down. He was in no hurry to start the day. Not when he had so many more days ahead—weeks, months, years—to spend however he liked.

Covering Caleb’s hand with his own, Molly pulled the covers back up, closing his eyes. Birds chirped and sunlight streamed into the room, but Molly felt no urgent need to face the outside world. For now, he was content to lie there, wrapped in the soft serenity spread like a silk blanket over the room.


	4. Prompt #4: Fjord and Jester doing arts and crafts (Fjorester)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #4: "Fjorester doing arts and crafts" submitted by Anon on Tumblr
> 
> Relationships: Fjorester

When Jester walked into her room, Fjord was completely covered in paint. At the sound of the door opening, he turned and stared at her, and she froze, eyes wide. “Oh,” said Jester, voice notably higher than usual. “What _happened_ to you, Fjord? Why are you all covered in cheap paint like that?”

Fjord sighed. He wiped his hands on his pants, as if that would do anything to improve his situation. In a voice heavy with defeat, he said, “Didn’t know it was cheap. I just… guess it was the only kind I could find around here.”

Jester tilted her head. There were roughly ten thousand questions she wanted to ask, but she settled for the most important: “What are you painting? I mean, what did you _mean_ to be painting?”

He shrugged one shoulder. The defeat in his voice spread to his expression. “I was _tryin’_ to paint a portrait of you. For our anniversary.”

Jester clasped her hands before her chest, smiling so hard it hurt. “Oh, Fjooord! That’s so romantic!” She danced up to him, hugging him tight, tucking her head under his chin. She turned her head and her cheek fit against his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter if you actually did it or not; it’s totally about the thought of it, don’t you think?”

Fjord kissed the crown of her head, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I guess. Doesn’t mean I’m not disappointed.”

Jester pulled back enough to see his face. “If you want,” she said, “I’ll show you how to make a _reeeally_ pretty picture.”

Fjord half-smiled. “You gonna give me art lessons, Mrs. Lavorre?”

“I can if you want, Mr. Lavorre.” She leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth. His half-smile became a full smile. “It’s more special to do things together on our anniversary instead of spending a bunch of time on presents and cards and stuff. You’re the best present ever, Fjord. Even if you’re all covered in paint.”

“Listen to you philosophizin’ like some kind’a romance guru.” With a coy smile, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. “My lady is the smartest and fairest in all the world.” He kissed each of her knuckles, and she pretended to swoon. 

“Oh, Oskar!” She fell into his arms; he barely caught her, his expression somewhere between exasperation and affection. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, tossing her head back with a dramatic sigh. 

Fjord shook his head fondly. “Y’know, I think we’ve got this a bit backwards. You should be the one carryin’ me.”

Jester immediately regained her feet and wrapped her arms around his waist, hosting him over her shoulder like a petulant child. He yelped, and she giggled. “You literally asked for this, literally.”

“That’s the one time I’ve heard that word used for what it’s meant to mean,” Fjord grumbled as she carried him across the room to the box of paints and brushes he’d left open on the stained floorboards. 

“What, ‘literally’?” Jester set him down, smoothing his paint-covered shirt until her own hands were covered in streaks of blue, violet, and silver. “That’s _literally_ an exaggeration.” She sat heavily on the floor, legs crossed under her, and pulled out a handful of brushes of all shapes and sizes. “This paint is awful, Fjord.” She wiped her hands on the floorboards. “But I think we might actually be able to use it for something, maybe, as long as you let me show you how to do it.”

Fjord sat next to her, mirroring her posture. “I’m all ears.”

“It’s more about hands,” Jester said. “Painting and drawing is about taking things that only you can see and making them real. Even if it’s a picture of something in real life, everyone has a unique way of seeing the world, you know?”

“I think I might.”

“That’s really good.” Jester pulled out her sketchbook and tore out a page, setting in down on a clean patch of floorboards. “I’m guessing the paper you got is totally ruined, totally, so we can just use this, okay?”

“What brush d’you want me to use?”

Jester handed him a mid-sized brush. “Hold it like a pen.” She manually manipulated his fingers around the brush’s handle. “Yeah, like that! And then you dip it in the black paint and draw a little outline like this.” She dipped her own brush and drew it carefully across the blank paper, sketching out a figure with broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and slicked-back hair. “I’ll draw you,” she said, “and you draw me.”

Fjord imitated her. His lines were not neat or practiced, but already Jester could see a unique style surfacing. “I was gonna apologize for makin’ you look bad, but if I’m bein’ honest there’s not a picture of you in the world I could call ugly.”

She smiled, heart burning bright as a shooting star. “I can’t believe I’m married to the most romantic and handsome person ever.” She kissed his cheek. 

“Sorry if my good looks and smooth words are distractin’ you from your craft,” Fjord said, sounding the exact opposite of sorry. He was smiling again, mischievous and coy.

“Well, since I’m drawing a picture of your good looks, that means that you can’t technically distract me with them, technically.”

“You make a good point, Jessie.” With the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth and his face screwed up with concentration, Fjord returned to his task.

Roughly two hours and a lot of cussing and kissing later, they called it quits. The painting was rough and blurry in places (especially Fjord’s half), but when Jester scooted back to give it a really good look, she was struck by how well their styles matched. The difference was stark, but the contrast was beautiful. 

Jester smiled at Fjord. “You did such a good job, Fjord. I’m actually really, really impressed right now.”

Fjord turned to look at her, smiling back. “I know I didn’t do you half the justice you deserve—or even one-hundredth, if I’m bein’ honest—but it’s the thought that matters, right?”

“I think,” said Jester, wiping her face with one paint-covered hand, “that the way you see me is unique, and there’s so much of that in what you painted. Making someone into art is super hard, Fjord, unless you really know them. And you know me better than anyone, probably. Except for the Traveler, of course.” A short pause. Fjord was visually struggling to form an eloquent reply; she spared him by adding, “Art is about taking real things and making them even more real. Even if those things are totally from your imagination. And when you draw someone you really, really love, I think you get to see all the parts of them that maybe you don’t even know you know you knew about them.” She reached for the paper, carefully pulling it toward her. “Look at the way you made it look like I’m glowing.” She traced the ring of golden-pink light Fjord had painted around the black outline. “And how you made my eyes _suuuuper_ sparkly and pretty. And you gave me so many little jewels and necklaces and things; Molly would be super jealous right now.”

Fjord moved closer, leaning against her side. “Yeah, well. You made me look like a fuckin’ supermodel. And you gave me tusks, even though mine are still growin’ in.” He smiled, the discomfort falling away completely. “I look more real in that picture than I do when I look in the mirror.”

Jester leaned over to kiss him; with a yelp, he scooted back a foot. For a second she frowned, confused and a little hurt. And then she felt the crack of paint drying on her face and lips, and grinned. “Oh, so now you don’t want to kiss me because I’ve got paint on my lips.” She jumped up and tackled him, rolling over and catching his face between her hands. “Too late, Fjord; you’re already covered in paint.” She leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose.

He shook his head, sighing, but she saw straight through his facade. “Oh, alright. Guess I can make an exception for the most talented artist in Wildemount.”

Jester kissed him, and he kissed her back. When she pulled away, he was smiling, eyes focused on her with the softest kind of intensity. He laughed and she giggled, kissing the tip of his nose again. “You know, you look really good with silver lips, Fjord.”

He huffed, but was unable to stop the smile creeping across his face. “Hey, if you like it, I’m not gonna diss it.” 

She rolled off him and they sat up, turning to look at their painting again.

Jester leaned against him, putting an arm around his waist. “Happy anniversary, Fjord.”

He put an arm around her shoulder and kissed the side of her head. “Happy anniversary, Jes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Send me prompts for Beauyasha, Fjorester, and/or Widomauk either in the comments or on Tumblr at ArtemisPendragon, and I’ll write a short fic! 💜


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